Sketch in the Sand
A poem by Oliverio Girondo
The morning strolls along the beach dusted with sun.
Floating rubber heads.
Tossing the bodies of the bathers, the waves spread their shavings along the sawdust beach.
Everything is blue and gold!
The shade of the cabanas. The eyes of girls who inject themselves with novels and horizons. My joy, in rubber-soled shoes, that makes me bounce along the sand. For eighty cents, photographers sell the bodies of the bathing women.
There are kiosks that exploit the drama of the coast. Moody servant girls. Irascible soda water, with a hint of brine. Rocks with the seaweed breast of a sailor and the painted heart of a fencer. Flocks of seagulls that mimic the weary flight of a scrap of paper.
And above all, the sea!
The sea! Rhythm of digression. The sea! with its spittle and its epilepsy.
The sea! . . . until you scream
like at the circus.
See more on the Beach
Remind you of anything?
These are sketches of the shapes and patterns created by my hair on the walls of the shower.
OK, it’s a bit strange, but I love the way they look on the white ceramic tiles, the way the thin, crisp lines create accidental “drawings”. I imagine them in bright colours and they remind me of Miró paintings and Calder sculptures. I look at them like clouds in the sky, searching for hidden forms. Sometimes I move them around and see new shapes forming. For me it’s a great starting point for developing ideas. Who would have thought washing your hair could lead to so much fun?